


A Many-Splendored Thing

by wreathed



Category: The Mighty Boosh RPF
Genre: Anal Sex, Bedroom Sex, Blow Jobs, Cheating, Crossover, First Time, M/M, Party, Porn, Porn With Plot, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-09-25
Updated: 2008-09-25
Packaged: 2017-10-22 16:19:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/240015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wreathed/pseuds/wreathed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>At a charity event, “the other bloke” from <i>Top Gear</i> catches Noel’s eye.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Many-Splendored Thing

The biggest charity benefit of the decade (or, at least, that’s what the trails and the posters and the collection tins promised it would be) has ended. The venue is swarming with celebrities in an after-party sort of spirit, and it seems like every person who’s been in a BBC show over the past twenty-five years been dragged in for this one.

Noel loves the noise, and the attention. He’s posed for camera flashes, winked at Russell Brand and God-knows-who-else, and lost Dee in the crowd. The free bar (he actually cares for the cause, he really does) has started to muffle his awareness like heavy, hanging fabric. He wants to find Julian.

A man, a man who is not Julian but who is as shabbily dressed and standing at the edge of a conversation, catches Noel’s eye for a moment. It’s one of the blokes off _Top Gear_ – they’d done some stupid stunt involving an electric car, a bowl of water and a lot of Health and Safety personnel after the Boosh had performed ten minutes of material from their latest live show. James...James...James May, that’s it. Noel isn’t into cars and doesn’t really watch the show, but he catches the odd episode on lonely, lazy mornings. He doesn’t like those sorts of days, isn’t the sort of person who is content to be alone. Needs an audience, always has.

James is taller than Noel is, and he’s far from being all harsh angles and skinny elbows. He doesn’t look entirely at ease with himself in this room filled with networking household names. He’d never put a styling product in that mop of hair if his life depended on it.

Noel glances at him, considers, remembers past collisions of skin that his mind will only recall in black and white, grainy and silent like old film. Decides, moves in for the proverbial kill.

* * *

“Hi,” says Noel, the words he utters sounding as casually-chosen as ever. “Noel Fielding.” He shifts his stance slightly, so that he is able to pull James towards him as the other man shakes Noel’s held-out hand for no more than a necessary second.

“Um, right. James May.” He frowns, briefly, and then relaxes a little. “I think I might have to get around to seeing some of _The Mighty Boosh_ after tonight.”

Noel knows he’s just being polite, but he doesn’t mind. James May is about as far away from the Boosh’s target audience as a brick is from being subtle. “It basically means I get paid to fuck around with my mates. Just have to come up with some comedy genius occasionally.” Noel’s eyes widen in time with the changes in his voice’s tone. “It’s brilliant.”

To his surprise, James’s lips quirk upwards, and the twitching twist distracts him for a moment. “I think my job is rather similar, actually.”

Noel fiddles coquettishly with the brightly-coloured pieces of his plastic necklace and, for he is the shorter of the two, looks up at James with heavily-lidded eyes. “D’you want a drink?”

“I’m alright, thanks. I’ve got to drive. And I don’t tend to gravitate towards people who think they’re God’s gift,” replies James, almost snidely, taking in Noel’s fur coat, straightened hair and silver boots. James smells faintly of cigarettes, and that’s the same too. Noel wishes, hopes, for more of the right similarities.

“I beg to differ,” says Noel, as he looks to where James is looking now: at Richard Hammond, talking to a group of well-heeled women.

“Or people who are far too perceptive for their own good.”

Noel grins cheekily and swaggers away. James watches as he reaches the bar and orders a girly cocktail like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

* * *

“Hi,” says Noel again, and James looks surprised that Noel is speaking to him for a second time. Hours have passed and the alcohol supply has diminished, and James isn’t sure why he hasn’t gone home yet. He desperately wishes Sarah had been able to attend the show; he would have liked the company, and the reassurance.

To stop his eyes wandering elsewhere, and to stop his mind dwelling on what is forbidden, he has been watching Noel all night. He wishes he could be that carefree and careless sometimes, wishes he could be so utterly, effortlessly involving and intoxicating. He has spotted Noel, for a few, brief seconds, clinging on to Julian Barratt like he’s a drowning man and Julian’s the vital life ring amongst the unforgiving waves. It seemed that Julian was acting as crutch for his drunken friend, although he’d looked uncomfortable even from where James had been standing as the sides of their bodies touched, and had quickly shaken Noel’s draping frame firmly away.

“Shouldn’t you be out of costume by now?” James asks. He feels like Noel has already worked him out, feels horribly exposed under his judging gaze.

Noel snorts. “They’re my own clothes!” he says, in mock outrage. He almost blushes, and James doesn’t know how he can get away with it. “Don’t you like them?”

“I don’t think they’d look sensible on anyone, to be honest. But,” and James pulls in demonstration at his checked shirt, “what do I know?”

Noel’s voice is low and slightly slurred. “Maybe they’d look better strewn across your bedroom floor?”

James can’t bring himself to reply to such a blatant question from somebody so barely known to him. He turns instead to the mute door, a side exit they are standing near to. He doesn’t stop Noel following him as he quickly walks away.

On the other side of the hall, Richard is clasped tight to Mindy as they smile for the cameras and each other.

“Where are we going?” asks Noel simply, once he has tottered out into the biting night air and caught up with James’s purposeful steps. “Do you have a house?” What he really wants to ask is if James has a wife, but it would be impolite. More dangerously, it might shake James to his senses.

“Yes.” Terse, sharp. Any decisions James makes now will be influenced by no more than one pint of beer. He sighs. “Come on.”

 _Nice car_ , thinks Noel – not that he is impressed by that or knows anything about these things – as he slides into a passenger seat that feels reassuringly old while James switches the ignition on, looking nervous. _Of course it fucking is_ , he realises, and mentally berates himself as James depresses the clutch and moves away in first gear without another word.

They do not speak on the journey; each wonders how much they can get away with as they watch the streetlights rush past and the desperate traffic move in familiar, twisting circles.

* * *

“You live alone, then?” Noel asks the dark silence.

James shuts his front door, deposits his house keys in a wooden bowl to his left-hand side clearly meant for that purpose, and wishes he could stop the niggling buzz of white noise that is troubling the order in his head.

“Yes. I live alone.” He switches on the living room light. Everything is very ordered. It reminds Noel of Julian’s house before Julia had the twins. Now Julian comes round to his most of the time, and always to sleep. Noel has stopped trying.

Now, he steels himself. “Are you with anyone?”

James gives him a look that says what Noel knew it would; it says _you couldn’t take the fucking hint_. “Yes, I am. Are you?”

“Yes. Nice house.”

“Thank you.”

Two strides and Noel’s shockingly close, because they are saying words when there are no words to say. James can smell his dense aftershave, and the air in the room seems to disappear as Noel leans right in.

Noel kisses with... _technique_ , yes, that’s the word right there. It’s not clinical, but it’s well-practiced and hard to critique and James can’t remember ever kissing someone who seemed so utterly self-assured of their prowess. Noel seems to know what he’s doing, and so James lets him get on with it, letting his tongue follow Noel’s as they leave saliva imprints on each other’s lips. It’s clear how many times he’s done this before, and as their mouths meld and chins gently bump together James thinks of himself as an oddball in a never-ending line of androgynous indie-kids, all staring at Noel like they want to fuck him five times over, dancing as one.

“Bedroom,” Noel breathes, and James, once again, does not deny him his request.

* * *

Noel has pinned James down on the bed in a supine position; Noel’s own legs are stretched wide apart as he straddles James’s midsection. They are both still fully clothed. James can’t decide if he wants the images flashing through his mind to stay or go. He should be thinking of Noel right now, that’s how sex is meant to work. He realises that he should force out the words clinging to the edge of his mouth, almost out in the open, but not quite. Warnings.

“I don’t want you to think...look, I’m not exactly trendy. Or young, for that matter. Or thin, or-”

“Shhh,” and Noel puts a sensual, coaxing finger across James’s half-parted lips. “You’re more than good enough. You’re sexy. Has anyone ever told you you’re sexy, James?”

James’s expression changes to a look of moderate affront. “Well, yes,” he huffs. “They have, actually. I mean, I’m not-”

“God, I didn’t mean to suggest- Just take off your shirt.”

“Why don’t _you_ take off that – frankly ridiculous – jacket? You’d better start undressing now, Fielding, you seem to be wearing half a charity shop.”

“You’re not making this any easier.”

“Easier, because...yes. Right. Um.” James’s eyes narrow, not shrewdly but as the semblance of a moment of clarity. Noel can’t help but fidget, but this means that he loses eye contact with the other man, and feels a strange sense of loss because of it.

They both know they are only proxies, but nobody gets exactly who they want these days.

Breathing and bedclothes shuffle, as awkward as the air; Noel slides his body closer. He looks for a moment like he is going to kiss James again, but then tilts his neck slightly to the left instead and buries his face in James’s hair, inhales like he’s looking for confirmation that this is real.

“Come on, old man,” whispers Noel against James’s ear. James can feel the outline of his wolfish grin.

Noel stretches his torso taut again and begins to strip. He puts on a show as he lifts his t-shirt over his head, and James can’t take his blinking eyes off Noel’s hipbones.

As Noel begins to unzip his skinny jeans ( _sticks for legs_ , James thinks, _it’s not right_ ) James fumbles with his shirt buttons and feels horribly ancient and out-of-place. He wonders why he is incapable of casual sex without the heavy, viscous guilt he feels run through him. Remembers how _easy_ Noel is with everyone, in many senses of the word, and wonders for the twentieth time that evening why Noel is here, here right now, when it seems like he can have anyone he wants. Someone who didn’t have to concentrate on reining in panic brought on by foreign touch.

Noel’s cock is unmistakably erect in the gentle, yellow glow (James wishes they could have done this with the lights off, but Noel had insisted) and it doesn’t matter how often he’s doubtlessly mistaken for a girl because the line of his body is telling James that he isn’t one. James reaches out, as if to check, and grasps Noel firmly by his shaft.

Noel starts to rock his hips, and James’s burgeoning arousal increases; his breathing quickens.

“What,” and Noel is looking down at James, James’s gaze is inexplicably drawn to Noel’s eyelashes. “What do you like? What do you want me to do?”

James has only been asked that a handful of times before in bed, and he has always remembered them as wasted opportunities: his indecision meaning that he could only stutter his way to orgasm as he whispered vague commands, feeling like an instruction manual.

“Uh.” James tries to think as Noel traces a long finger around one of his nipples, and decides that from this point on he will live in and for the moment as much as it is possible to do so, otherwise nothing’s going to work. He shuts off his brain. The first thing his eyes fall on are Noel’s shiny, silver, ridiculous knee-high boots. His jeans are still tucked into them, tight.

“Leave-” James swallows as Noel runs his soft touch over a hardened bud. He is still trying to disconnect his thought. “Leave your boots on. Leave your boots on and fuck me.” The words tumble out in a rush.

Noel smirks and shuffles backwards, feels some of the tension melt away. Spreads James’s legs apart and kneels between them. Almost falls off the bed, because it’s a bit too small and his jeans are still constricting his movement and he’s still a bit drunk. He understands why James wants to get fucked.

“Sorry,” says Noel, “but where’s-?”

“Top drawer. Just in front of you.”

Noel reaches for the handle, and soon finds a tube of lubricant and a condom. It doesn’t look like there’s going to be much pre-amble. He lowers the waist of James’s trousers and boxers in one movement, slides them off along with his shoes and socks. He rolls the condom on, the sound of the plastic searing through the air, and – carefully – pushes James’s legs back, coats one finger in sliding coolness. Pushes the digit into James’s arse. It’s all very methodical, but Noel has a feeling that James likes methodical. He is overcome with a sudden desire to make James’s face even redder, stop him biting on his _fucking bottom lip_ and _hear_ him gasp and moan. So uptight sometimes, like...

“Mmm.” James’s eyes are closed, and his sounds are small. “ _Yes_. Fuck.”

Noel is gritting his teeth, opening up James’s hole, adding touch. It all feels as quick as sweat and fevered heat, and not wanting to slow down he grips James’s legs and holds them up high as he pushes inside him, feels James’s body curve and flex.

He thrusts as if he is keeping time to music, evenly and quickly and deeply. The room is filled with grunts and creaks, noise; the bedside lamp keeps reflecting brightness off Noel’s stupid boots. Noel can see James’s feet clenching and unclenching in his peripheral vision. James’s arms are outstretched, lost.

When Noel comes, into overwhelming tightness, he doesn’t say anything at all, just grips tighter and pants pathetically. It’s too intense, and in that moment he doesn’t remember James’s name to say. He doesn't try and remember all the names, there’s too many of them. It's only the important ones that he keeps safe and locked away.

As soon as the shuddering stops he pulls away from James, and bends his neck forward with a strange sort of grace. A few greedy slurps around James’s hard, aching cock and most of Noel’s suspicions are confirmed as James murmurs syllables of the wrong name while his hips buck to meet Noel’s mouth. Noel pretends not to notice.

* * *

Noel is still there in the morning. The first thing James sees when he wakes up is a chunky silver heel poking out of the covers, triggering relief and regret in equal measure. Noel has slept how James had seen him last – with the boots on and his jeans bunched around his knees.

James watches his face for a while: the jagged hair, that strange nose. Noel’s eyes open, and James starts. He speaks thickly. He wants some answers.

“You can get anyone you want. Why did you come back here with me?”

“You’re wrong.”

“Sorry?”

Noel’s voice is dry and downcast and free of intonation, weary as he pokes sleep away and rolls over to look James in the eyes. “You’re wrong. I can’t get anyone I want.”

Like only getting a joke when everyone else has stopped laughing, a realisation clicks into place.

“Julian?”

“Of course,” Noel says, like it’s that obvious. It _is_ obvious, really.

“Your girlfriend...”

“Is beautiful. You can love more than one person at the same time, you know. Love is a many-splendored thing. Everyone should be loved.”

“But you shouldn’t love everyone.”

James looks away from Noel, his eyes narrow and dart to the side; the action reminds Noel of someone else and he feels a quick, stabbing pain rush through one side of his chest. “I don’t love you,” says Noel.

“Good.”


End file.
